Prebyvanie
by rossiya
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a Hitman. The night before, he was hired by Arthur Kirkland to kill a man.
1. Ouch, That Stung

{** I have to tell you now, but this is a Russia/America fic. Russia doesn't show up 'til later. **}

It was just another day on the job; Alfred F. Jones doing his daily work, as in pulling out guns of all shapes and sizes and killing people. Typical for a Hitman.

The night prior to this one he was given another job by a man named Arthur Kirkland. He would be given a shitload of money for this hit, which instantly put him in a good mood. The job seemed so easy. Everything he was doing was level easy bull; nothing he couldn't do. He was told specifically where his hit would be at an exact time. He either had a pretty routine life or this guy hiring him was stalker, he thought.

Alfred stood in his mansion, just at the top of the large, fancy stares that led to several of _his_rooms. He had had his sniper all set up and ready to go. The American was plenty good at aiming from far distances, but he was outstanding with a sniper.

He had dressed in his finest suit, most expensive pair of designer shoes, and his dirty-blonde hair was slicked back, the only strand refusing to lay with the others being a small cowlick; it actually hadn't looked too bad this way, and there was nothing he could do about it. Alfred had hidden a handgun in his belt, plus a knife at his ankle just in case he would have to take a few guards out.

According to Arthur, this guy was rich as could be. He would be probably crawling with top notch guards. As he began down the steps, noting he had everything he needed, he bobbed his head to hs waiter. "I'll be back before midnight," he told him. The waiter nodded in response, and Alfred was out the door.

Following the address he was given by Arthur, Alfred pulled up to a mansion a bit larger than his own, with the lights from the inside shining just as brightly on the outside. He gave a quick turn into what was like a forest by the home, hiding his car there. He casually stepped out of his vehicle, sniper in hand. Alfred skimmed over the trees, picking one out to climb into and see if the room he was told this dude would be at was visible. He decided on one, and proceeded to one of the highest branches. It was a good choice, considering there were leaves everywhere; it'd be hard to see him, but he could easily see _them._

He lied down on the thick branch, already beginning to aim his gun. Luckily for him, the room he was told this man would be at was a clear shot; he'd be able to take him out easier than he expected.

Easy money was something Alfred was rather fond of.

Before Alfred zoomed in on the window where his hit would be, he tugged on a sleeve and checked his watch. It was 9:34; he had to wait one minute for his man. He quickly recovered his position, and peered through the telescope sight to get a good aim.

And just on time, a tall man with pale skin and platinum locks came to the window, pouring himself a glass of vodka. Alfred maneuvered until he had the perfect shot on the man's head. He began to tug at the trigger, when the man's lavender eyes seemed to look directly at him. He felt his heart jump from his chest to his throat.

"What the fu-"

_**POW!**_

Suddenly there was a terrible aching at his side. Alfred felt himself become dizzy. He released the grip of his sniper and placed his hand at the side where he had hurt, then looked at his hand only to find it _covered_ in blood. His glasses slipped off his nose whilst he slid off the tree branch, falling into thick bushes.


	2. Explanation

When he finally came to, Alfred's hands were tied behind his back, his shirt was missing, and he was covered in bandages in a dark room. He could hardly see anything, his glasses gone without a trace. He felt a little dizzy still.

"Where the hell am I?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "What the fuck's going on?"

"You're _here_, Alfred," said a mysterious voice.

Alfred looked around, unable to see anyone. His eyebrow furrowed as he realized moving was painful; his side hurt with just the slightest twitch. "Shit... Where the hell are you?" he spat. "How the fuck do you know my name?"

"I.D.s, Alfred. And computers. They come in handy, do they not?" remarked the voice. It was oddly calm and smooth.

"...Fuck..." was all Alfred could say. This meant he was caught in the act; he was done for. "What do you want from me?"

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows of the room and approached Alfred. Alfred flinched as a hand gently sat on his shoulder. A confused look, then a raise of his head to see who it was touching him. His vision was too blurry to tell, and he was in too much pain to really give a crap at the time.

He let his head level again and he simply glared at whatever body part was in front of him.

The thumb of the man's hand rubbed Alfred's shoulder. "My name is Ivan Braginski. The person you were hired to kill."

_Shit,_ thought Alfred. _He's probably going to fucking kill me._

"Mr. Kirkland and I never did get along well," said Ivan, releasing Alfred's shoulder and turning away. "It was all about business with him all the time. No fun."  
>Alfred could hear him messing with something; by the sounds of it it was on a wooden table. It was similar to the sound of metal (such as coins) dragging against them. He assumed "Ivan" had picked something up, but he was nervous to find out <em>what<em> he had picked up. Alfred's blue eyes hardened into a cold glare sent in the direction of Ivan, yet he was still somewhat unsure where he was.

"Whereas, Arthur and I have had some good times," Ivan went on, "I remember the day we had first met... the man had stolen a good million dollars from me." A chuckle came here. "A million dollars that we both worked to get."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. _Why is he telling me this shit? I don't care about how they met and why they're enemies,_ he thought, _fucker is just stalling to make me have an anxiety attack._  
>It wouldn't be a surprise if he <em>were<em> to have an anxiety attack. This Ivan guy was really worrying about that noise from earlier. He had a few ideas as to what it could be.

"Oh," said Ivan, "and, dear Arthur was thirsty on the day we first met, and kindly snatched my vodka out my hand."

Abruptly, Alfred could see again. Ivan had slipped his glasses on his nose and hooked them behind his ear, surprisingly gentle about it, nonetheless. Alfred took a moment to adjust to his glasses. Thankfully this didn't take too long, and he was able to see Ivan clearly now.

The tall, pale man had the softest of smile on his face, but his eyes seemed to contrast that. They were empty looking. Pretty, lavender hollow eyes. What was that all about?

"I'm sure you're wondering how you got here," Ivan continued, looking directly in his eyes. "One of my partners caught you in that tree... and kindly took care of it."


End file.
